


Talks Among the Leaves

by hellostarlight20



Series: Stories of the past-prompts [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Autumn, F/M, Fluff, fall fic fest, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 15:47:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4966870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellostarlight20/pseuds/hellostarlight20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten x Rose walking through the wood and sharing stories. Fluff, talk, autumn festivals and colors, and more fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talks Among the Leaves

**Author's Note:**

> This is canon compliant. I know, strange, but if you really want, you can pretend it takes place pre-We Are Never Alone series.

“It was a dark and stormy night…”

Rose laughed. “Good thing your night was dark, eh? Hate those bright sunny nights.”

The Doctor sniffed but cast her a wide, happy grin. Good. When they exchanged stories like this, Rose tried to keep it as light as possible. Didn’t always work, of course, his stories were often dark and death and desperate.

She held him during those stories. Waited until the shaking stopped and his breathing evened out and his eyes lost that glassy haunted look that burned through her.

Today they walked through a lovely grove of trees on a planet she forgot the name of beneath an orange-yellow sun. The breeze held more than a hint of chill as it lazily danced around them, but it was autumn on this planet and the reason they landed.

Well, one of the reasons. The Harvest Festival was one, yes, but the black market was the other.

Apparently the Doctor could find all manner of unusual parts for the TARDIS…or the storage room. Rose swore he collected junk but he always sniffed at that said in that haughty voice of his _‘One man’s junk is a TARDIS part waiting to be used, Rose.’_

“Oi, whose story is this?” he demanded without heat.

Rose squeezed his hand. “Sorry.” She snickered and ginned up at him. “Sorry. Continue!”

“Now then,” he said with typical exaggeration. “Storms. Yes. You’d call them hurricanes or typhoons, and they were the same thing on Praxious. But the Praxiousians—” he exaggerated the ooo sound—“have a hundred and three different words for those storms.”

“Why did you land there?” Rose asked as the leaves crunched beneath their feet. “If it storms all the time, why go?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t have a choice, had to find the Rings of Peroxailde before the princess’s coronation.”

“Peroxide?” Rose demanded and looked skeptically up at him.

“Peroxailde,” he said and sounded it out carefully. She still didn’t hear the difference.

Rose let it go; sometimes she thought he made up these stories. Then again, given what she’d seen of the universe, he didn’t need to. Truth stranger than fiction and all that.

“And what did this ring do?” she asked instead.

“Nothing.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Nothing?”

“Not a thing,” he agreed, still smiling.

His fingers squeezed around hers and he waggled his eyebrows for effect. Rose grinned wider. Oh. One of those stories. The kind where he went out and saved the day and they partied later. No running, no death, no heartbreak.

“Why did the princess need them, then?”

“No idea.” He shrugged, an easy roll of his shoulders as they continued along the path through the woods. “Some sort of ritual, but they were purely symbolic.” The Doctor looked down at her and tugged her faster.

Ahead, she saw a break in the woods, bright sunlight guided their way. The forest wasn’t dark and scary, the scents were too strong and the chirping birds too active, fluttering about overhead. Unless they were predatory...Rose glanced up. No, she didn’t think so.

Great, now she could talk herself out of a beautiful walk among the multi-colored leaves with the Doctor. She was over-thinking this. Or...she traveled with him too long.

“Where did you find them?” she asked, tearing her gaze from the birds.

He looked down at her, his eyes light and open, his face relaxed. No tension tightened his fingers around hers or bracketed his mouth. His walk was easy, gait smooth and even with hers. Little things, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, showed her the Doctor relaxed as much as he ever could.

She vowed to see he had more of these days for however long she lived.

“In a box in the far left corner of a shoe closet.”

For one short beat, Rose stared at him. Then she laughed, gasping for breath, fingers flexing around his. He joined in, and she knew why he shared this story with her.

The day all but demanded joy.

They exited the forest just then, walking from the shades of oranges and reds into the wide open field. The tall grass, about to her mid-shin, waved in gorgeous waves of golds. In the distance, Rose just made out the festival, the swarming mass of people, the indistinct shouting and faintly visible displays of acrobatics.

But the breeze floated around them, a hint of chill, the scents of life hibernating, waiting on a new day.

Suddenly she didn’t want to join the festival. She didn’t want to mingle amongst people or visit the marketplace or watch the entertainment. Suddenly, she wanted to sit with the Doctor on this hill and simply be…just be, the two of them. Talk if the mood struck them or watch the festival from up here. Make up their own stories to go with what they saw.

But he tugged her hand and pulled her down the hill. Laughing, hand clasped so tightly in his, Rose raced after him. He turned back and grinned, long coat flapping behind him, hair wild and untamed.

She laughed again, gasped for breath but never broke stride. At the base of the hill, the Doctor stopped and tugged her into his arms. Held her tight, so tight against him. Rose swore she felt his lips brush the top of her head.

When she looked up, his eyes were deep and fathomless, centuries of stories and deaths and loss swirled in his eyes.

“Doctor,” she breathed.

Her fingers brushed his cheek, a faint touch of comfort. Less than she wished to offer.

“Rose.” The word was choked, a half-syllable of emotions she knew he’d never voice.

He needed this. And that was all Rose needed. In that moment, it was all that mattered. The Doctor needed sound and juggling and the bartering he so loved. So she pulled back, hand still firmly in his, and grinned.

“How did you find the shoe closet?” she asked and headed in the direction of the festival.

“Oh, you know: a little this, a little that, a little ingenuity.”

“You were hiding,” Rose said with a knowing nod. 

“Rose Tyler!” he said, indignant. But his smile gave him away. “I may have wished to not partake in what the princess’s lady in waiting had in mind for a pre-wedding activity.”

“Only you, Doctor,” Rose snickered.

She leaned her head against his arm, allowed the wind to wrap around them and the sounds from ahead to draw them closer.

“I never want this day to end,” she sighed.

The words trailed back to her and she grimaced. Hadn’t meant to say that aloud. Damn. The Doctor didn’t like it when she talked like that. Got all tense and aggravated. Ran, ran so fast she barely kept up—sometimes she wondered if he did that on purpose.

Ran to see if she kept up, like an odd test to see if she’d stay.

Rose looked up at him, tentative smile curling her lips. But he beamed down at her, all happiness and light—eyes crinkling at the corners, hair standing on end, fingers around hers as if he’d never let her go.

“Me either,” he admitted, the words a bare breath between them.

Her heart melted. Melted and did a little flip, slow and dangerous but then it was far too late for that, wasn’t it. She passed danger months ago. Years ago with him.

“Come on,” he said louder, fingers tightening around hers. “Let’s see what sort of food they have.”

Rose nodded and easily kept up. They walked the rest of the distance in silence, comfortable, intimate silence that surrounded them as closely as the wind.


End file.
